


Anything You Want

by lazulibundtcake



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Wings, Wings at the end if you know what I mean, nebulas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulibundtcake/pseuds/lazulibundtcake
Summary: “Ask me, angel.  I can’t do it unless you ask."After the Ritz, they end up at Crowley's place again.  Love ensues.Chapters two and three just added!  Those are the smutty ones.





	1. Chapter 1

“That was just a lovely afternoon,” said Aziraphale, hanging up his coat.

“It was,” Crowley agreed. They were at his flat. After leaving the Ritz, they’d gone back to the park and walked there for hours. It turned out they had quite a lot to say to each other, after all these years. Getting into the Bentley at dusk, they’d still been so busy talking neither of them quite noticed when he drove to his place without dropping Aziraphale at the bookshop.

Crowley didn’t mind, even though he was undeniably exhausted. At this rate, he’d probably fall asleep listening to the angel chatter. He sprawled on the couch, putting his feet up and reaching for the whiskey bottle and tumblers that had conveniently appeared on the coffee table.

Aziraphale sat on the other end. Crowley passed him his glass and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He was starting to drift off when Aziraphale sighed.

“Well,” he said, “Here we are. World saved. Everything back to the way it was.” Crowley just nodded up and down, emphatically. They kept circling around to this point, but that didn’t make it any less excellent. He sipped his drink.

“So, I’ve just been thinking. What do we do now, Crowley?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, well, nobody’s watching over us, as far as I can tell, anymore. So, what are we supposed to do?”

“I suppose we can do,” Crowley gestured grandly with his whiskey glass, “whatever we like.”

“Whatever we like.” He could hear the smile in the angel’s voice. “It might be good to travel, do some sightseeing. There are wonderful places even I’ve never gotten to. But, honestly, what I like is London, and collecting books, and helping people, although it will be nice to do that without all the paperwork.”

Crowley rolled his head over and smiled, watching him. To his eyes, it was brighter where Aziraphale sat; wherever the angel went, he stood out brave and steady as a candle flame. Sometimes it made Crowley tired to look at all that bright goodness, but tonight he was grateful for him there, filling the air of the goddamned gloomy flat with golden motes of light.

“Really, I can’t think of a great deal more that I’d like to do. So, what about you? I suppose you,” he continued, before Crowley could reply, “have always done just whatever you want. Isn’t that what demons do, indulgences? Drinking, and – drug parties, and orgies, and suchlike?”

Crowley roused himself, shaking his head, sitting up.

“Ah, no, that’s just, just _business_ , really, that’s never been me. Honestly, I _never_ get to do – what I want.” He mumbled as he trailed off, pouring himself another drink, busy with the glass.

But Aziraphale had heard him. “Well, we must change that! Now that we’re – free, as it were. You said it yourself, we can do as we like. So, what is it you would like to do?”

“Ahhh, well,” Crowley shook his head. “Nothing, really, I mean really, forget I said anything. More drink?”

“Yes, thank you.” Aziraphale looked at his glass, lifted it, put it back down again. “Crowley.”

“What.”

“Please, you must tell me.”

“Oh, must I?”

“Well, and why not? After what we’ve been through, I mean, really, my goodness.”

Crowley shut his eyes again. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Please. Because, _you_ are important to me. Crowley. You’re my best friend, and I want you to be happy.”

Crowley silently blessed his careless mouth. Why didn’t he just lie? The thing was, he’d never actually _lied_ to Aziraphale. Left certain facts unmentioned, surely, but he didn’t think he could look him in the eye and try to deceive him. What’s more, the angel would probably know.

He glanced at him. Aziraphale smiled back, that beatific smile that was burned into his brain after 6,000 years. Suddenly Crowley felt just too tired not to tell the truth. Was it really so much harder than keeping the burning Bentley in one piece? Than facing Heaven and Hell bent on destroying them? Besides, what was the point, really, of saving the world, if everything went back _exactly_ as it had been?

He rubbed his face, the back of his neck. He heard himself say, “What I want.”

“Yes.”

“What I want, what I really want, uh… to do, is, well, just to… touch, you. Angel.” He looked at Aziraphale, who had dropped his eyes to his folded hands. In the dark hallways of his mind he heard his voice echoing, “You go too fast for me, Crowley… It’s over.”

Feeling the beginnings of a familiar despair, he pressed on. “ _Could_ I just… touch you? Please.” He spread his hands. “Don’t make me beg.”

Aziraphale looked back up at him, face still, eyes bright as two stars. The golden glow emanating from him had become almost too intense to look at. The angel took a breath. “I’m – not sure I understand, Crowley. We’ve – touched – each other… loads of times.”

But he stayed there, on the couch, and didn’t look away. Crowley felt an enormous warmth blooming in his chest, that had nothing to do with whiskey.

“Right, I suppose we have,” he muttered. He leaned forward. “But. But not like this.”

He reached out, placed one hand on top of the angel’s folded two. The other one he lifted, as slowly as he could stand, until it cupped his jaw, fingertips brushing white-blond curls.

“Oh,” breathed Aziraphale, and closed his eyes, leaning into his hand. Crowley knew that expression, of the angel savouring the last bite of something delicious, and he thought his heart would burst out of his chest.

Aziraphale felt the touch down to his toes. Crowley’s fingers were callused, but his palm was soft as velvet, and _hot_ , like the side of a woodstove. Everything Aziraphale had been afraid of was not happening. No crack of lightning, no booming voice and plummet into the pit. A bright wild happiness, not so different from divine ecstasy, zipped up his spine.

He opened his eyes, saw that he was gripping Crowley’s hand between his two as though to keep from falling.

“Is this a trick?” he whispered. “You old serpent.”

Crowley cocked his head, his jaw working. “No trick,” he said, and bent towards him.

Aziraphale put a hand on his chest. “Crowley.”

There was a rush of coolness to his cheek as he let go, started to pull away, saying, “I’m so sorry, angel, I apologi-“

But Aziraphale shook his head, reached out to him. “Take your glasses off.”

Crowley stopped dead. In one movement he ripped off the sunglasses and slid back towards Aziraphale, who felt suddenly pinned, as though under the fierce hot glare of twin desert suns. Almost hypnotized, he had a stab of deep sympathy for Eve.

Their lips touched. Nothing broke, nothing cracked, or maybe it did, maybe the world cracked open as a drop of water cracks a ray of light into the myriad possibilities of the rainbow.

Aziraphale found himself crushed back into the couch, surrounded by the bitter-almond smell that baked out of Crowley’s skin, the _taste_ of him in his mouth as delicious as anything he’d ever experienced with this body. His hands were in the demon’s hair, and he could scarcely breathe, but it didn’t matter.

For his part, Crowley felt as though he was tumbling into a heady ambrosial cloud, silky and enveloping, and the only solid thing was the angel, in his arms, finally, _finally_. He clutched him, and felt himself clutched back. The sweetness of it was almost too much to bear.

After an eternity, Crowley pulled back, just an inch, to look Aziraphale in the eyes. Heat poured off his skin like the shimmer from hot coals, but Aziraphale just drank it in.

“Ok, angel?” Crowley whispered.

“Yes,” breathed Aziraphale. Crowley kissed his forehead, his neck, any exposed place, saying, “Ok? S’this all right?” and Aziraphale saying, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, my dear, yes.”

“What should I do? What do you want me to do?”

“Everything. Do everything, Crowley, do it, do anything you want. Anything. I love you.”


	2. Chapter 2

At his words Crowley stilled, face pressed into Aziraphale’s neck, breath coming in shuddering gasps. Aziraphale could feel his heart pounding, both their hearts pounding, just thin walls of bone between them. He held Crowley as tightly as he could, smoothing one hand down the demon’s back. He put his nose in his hair, breathing in his toasted scent. He kissed his forehead.

Crowley looked up at him, then abruptly slid out from under from his hands. He got a foot away before he surged back and pressed a hard, bruising kiss to the angel’s mouth. Then, with a sigh, he moved to the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

The suddenly cool air on his body was a shock. Aziraphale sat up slowly, hands fluttering to arrange his clothes. Crowley watched him, then turned his head away.

“Look, we have to talk.”

He took a breath, blew it out. “I suppose we do.” He considered the side of Crowley’s face, then reached out and touched his arm. “But… will you look at me?”

Crowley did look at him, a flash of gold, but he stayed facing forward. “ I, uh, I can’t, actually. Look at you… looking like that, and… let me just say this.” He swallowed, took a deep breath. “Listen. I’m always going to _be_ a demon. That’s never going to change.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale. “Maybe.”

Now Crowley looked at him. “What?”

“I mean… like you said, we don’t _have_ sides anymore. We can do as we like. That means you no longer have to _do_ Hell’s demonic work. I don’t see why you’re not free… to be who you are. Whoever you want to be.”

Crowley sat still as a stone. Finally he said, “I hadn’t really thought about it like that.”

“Really?”

“I’d... just been thinking about it from your end. How maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about, ehhh…”

“Falling?” said Aziraphale softly.

“Yeah.”

“My dear.” He put a hand out, hesitated, and folded them again. “I did, yes, worry. But, Crowley, you must understand, I only ever… stayed away, because I _knew_ Hell would destroy you if they found out. About _any_ of this.”

Crowley looked at him, and it was all Aziraphale could do not to touch him, to keep talking. “And… I couldn’t bear that. I’m sorry, I couldn’t. Not if I could have kept you safe.” He swallowed, took a breath.

“The thing is, Crowley, it didn’t seem to make a difference. With you, or not. _Demon_ , or not. You made it impossible _not_ to love you. Because you are kind, and clever, and so, so beautiful, and _good_ , and yes, you are -- mischievous, and you do drive, a _little_ too fast, but I don’t – always – mind.” He closed his mouth, hands squeezing each other in his lap.

Crowley leaned forward, looking back and forth between Aziraphale’s eyes. “Is all that… actually true?”

“I -- Yes. Utterly.”

He smiled then, and it made him look… young, somehow. A wide, artless grin, like dawn breaking, that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d seen in millennia. Mesopotamia, or the wall of Eden. When the world was new, and anything had seemed possible.

“Well,” he said softly. “That’s all right, then.”

Aziraphale kissed him. He kissed him for every minute he had spent eating forkfuls of cake, and not kissing him. Every moment spent watching him out of the corner of his eye as they walked, sat on benches, rode in the Bentley, and not kissing him. He kissed him to get the taste of him again: bitter, lush, hot.

Crowley’s arms went around him, vise-tight. Aziraphale lifted his hands to cradle his face, tracing the line of his jaw. With four fingers he stroked the snake tattoo. Still kissing him, he moved one hand down his neck to his collarbone, finding bare skin.

Crowley let go of him then, shrugged out of his jacket, yanked off his tie. He moved to open the shirt, but Aziraphale shooed his hand away and started undoing the buttons.

Even though he had just himself inhabited this body, taken off these clothes under his own power; and even though corporeal forms were of course just temporary vessels; touching Crowley was still entirely different, and precious, and intoxicating. He pressed his face to his chest, inhaling, and Crowley made a small noise, squeezed his shoulders. He moved down, pulling up his undershirt to kiss the flat plane of his stomach, and Crowley exhaled fiercely. And when he smoothed his fingers over, and then kissed, the hot hardness straining against his tight jeans, the demon jerked as though he’d touched an electrical wire.

His hand came under Aziraphale’s chin, gently lifting him upwards. “Angel.” The look on his face. “Come to my bed?”

Somehow they got there. On the way Crowley pulled his undershirt off over his head, and Aziraphale felt something almost predatory in himself at the sight of the groove of his spine, running down between smooth muscle and disappearing into his jeans.

The room was dark as a cave, lit only by the light from the corridor. Crowley moved in, turning down the covers, but Aziraphale hesitated at closing the door and plunging them into blackness. He felt for a switch, but found none; and it seemed rude to miracle light into the demon’s inner sanctum. Finally Crowley turned, smiling, said, “Oh sorry, lights,” and snapped.

The concrete walls pulsed, then melted into a glowing mass of color. Aziraphale blinked. The pictures resolved themselves into... stars. Galaxies. Nebulas, gently drifting and swirling, a silent riot of streaming rainbow gasses. They bathed the room softly in blue, green, violet light.

He was astonished. “Crowley --” he started, but he was there, naked from the waist up, leaning past him to push the door closed. Then he put a hand on Aziraphale’s bowtie, said in his ear, “Let’s get this off.”

Aziraphale felt very wobbly in the knees. Closing his eyes, and hating himself a little, he cleared his throat and whispered, "Um."

“What? What is it?”

“Well, ah, you haven’t actually said… if you… love me.”

Crowley stared at him, mouth open. Finally he choked out, “What – are you serious? Course -- of course I love you! It’s always been, everything, for you! Why do you think – I was ready to pack it all in when you died!” He took a breath. “I love you. I love you, you -- gorgeous, brilliant, beautiful angel. I love you more than anything in the world. Obviously. Now. Now, can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale, wordless, reached up for him, and Crowley took him in his arms, and very, very gently maneuvered him backwards, until his shoulders hit the closed door. There Crowley kissed him. Leaned his body into him, and kissed him, and kissed him, until they couldn’t stand up anymore. And then his bowtie was off, and his shirt was open, and they tumbled onto the bed.

The sheets were black, of course, but made of some unfathomably soft material.

Aziraphale had never imagined it could be like this. Of course he had dreamt of being held, and longed to kiss, and had a carefully curated mental file of moments when Crowley’s body had been close enough to touch, but he hadn't allowed himself to go much beyond that. The angel of the Eastern Gate knew as well as anybody that once you start putting names to things in a nameless formless void, it only leads to trouble.

He certainly hadn't let himself envision the specific rolling motion Crowley’s hips took against his own aching body, or how his hands seemed to be _everywhere_ , all at once, or how soft, yet endless, his kisses were.

He wished their clothes gone so fervently, yet so incoherently, that when they did vanish he wasn’t even sure if it was the force of his wanting or Crowley’s doing. There wasn’t time to wonder, as the most sensitive part of himself was now pressed against the demon’s flesh. He was so hot, sunbaked bricks in a Roman plaza, a lit match burning the fingertips.

Aziraphale reached down blindly to find Crowley’s cock, palming the length of it, marveling at its silky texture. Crowley groaned, and thrust against his hand, and then he was licking, sucking, _biting_ at his neck, and Aziraphale couldn’t comprehend why that felt so good, but all he could do was cling to him, and cry out.

He felt within himself a deep unfolding, a loosening, that was almost like flying. _This_ must be why the physical world had been made, so beings could _feel_ this pleasure, give and receive this pleasure. His body felt as vast as the ocean, and he wanted to envelop Crowley; he wanted Crowley to swim in him; he wanted to consume him.

When Crowley’s hot hand encircled his hardness and stroked it, twice, three times, he forgot to breathe, and then he was exploding, all his love and lust and pent-up longing flying out of him, and the demon’s tongue was deep in his mouth, and he could feel their cocks throbbing together. Then they were both gasping, and holding each other for dear life.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley’s sleep was brief, but deep. Coming up out of it was like being washed from cold ocean surf onto shining, warm sand. He was entirely comfortable. He knew where he was, but it took a long moment to understand the silky flesh rising and falling beneath his cheek. The scent of the angel was in his nose, in his brain.

Aziraphale. Aziraphale was here, he was holding him. Crowley was lying in his arms. He kept his eyes closed, hardly daring to breathe from an ingrained fear that it might end, just a sweet dream. He had awakened, alone, from such dreams before.

But a change in his breathing, the unconscious tightening of his arms, told the angel he was no longer asleep.

“Hello, my love,” he said, kissing his head, one hand stroking down his shoulder.

At the sound of his voice an enormous wave of relief rolled over Crowley. Relief, but then other emotions welled up, unbidden. He lay there, trying to keep his breath steady, riding them out.

“Sweetheart,” Aziraphale said, concerned. That broke it. Crowley let out one sob, sucked in his breath, pushed his face into the angel’s chest. Aziraphale’s arms tightened around him, and it was so very different, to be held.

“You were gone,” Crowley whispered. He couldn’t stop the words from coming up. “I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t… save you. You were gone. You were gone.”

Aziraphale’s grip on him never faltered. He said, “I know. My darling. I know. I’m here now, I’m here, I’m right here. I did everything I could, to come back to you.” The angel kept holding him, stroking his hair, rocking a little, and this was a kind of love that Crowley had barely imagined. He sank into it, closing his eyes, letting himself be soothed. They lay there for a long time.

Finally, Aziraphale heaved a big sigh and, bless him, changed the subject. “Crowley, dearest, I just wanted to tell you. I love all these -- celestial bodies, on your walls. But I’m afraid I don’t know them all. Would you, darling, please tell me their names?”

He had taken a long time with his nebulas, painstakingly rendering them in paint and fire from memory. It took some effort to keep them moving, and glowing, but the effect was worth it, and it was his custom to bring them out before he slept. He hadn’t imagined ever showing anyone, but in the back of his mind he had of course wished Aziraphale could see them.

“Well, that one,” he pointed, not moving an inch from where he lay, “That’s the Omega nebula. Over there’s Orion. That’s the Crab, and then that’s the galaxy Andromeda, and Messier 82. And there’s Eta Carinae, the Grand nebula.” He paused. “I helped build that one.”

“I had no idea,” murmured Aziraphale. “It’s very beautiful.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “And that little greenish, bluish one doesn’t have a name. I don’t think anyone’s found it, yet, but I’m sure it’s still out there.” He said quietly, “I’m glad you like them, angel.”

Aziraphale, who had been running his hands over his back, paused. Crowley looked up and found his eyes, their blue-green depths as beautiful as anything in the cosmos.

“How long, Crowley?”

“Has it been out there? Aeons, I think.”

“No. How long have you, felt like this. About me.”

“Ohhh.” He put his head back down, relishing every place their bodies touched. He wasn’t going to move unless he absolutely had to. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked you first.”

He shrugged a little, closed his eyes. Held him tight. “Tough to say, really. I always thought you were a clever bastard.”

“Crowley.”

He smiled. “Nice, too. Terribly nice. I mean… I crawled up next to you on that wall, you could have just told me to bugger off.”

“I would never.”

“That’s precisely my point.” He took a deep breath. “So I always _liked_ you, right, how could I not. But the rest… Okay, if you have to know, _you_ started it. You would... Aziraphale. You would _look_ at me. And, then _I’d_ think, well I’d do anything to have him look at me like that again.” He lay quiet for a minute. “But then it got all complicated.”

“Yes. Yes it did.”

There were still words Crowley could have said, like, Why couldn’t you have just come with me? Why couldn’t you trust me? Even though he knew, or thought he knew those answers, it still hurt. He didn’t want to talk about that now. It was enough, now, to be lying here, with him.

“All right, then. So what about you?”

Aziraphale considered. “Also hard to pinpoint,” he said finally. “I know when I _knew_ , but that’s different than knowing when it started.”

“Well when was that?”

“The church, of course. The Blitz.”

“Ah yes. That was a good one.”

A small laugh burst from Aziraphale. “It was, a good one. If you were trying to _get_ me.”

“Something like that.”

“But like you said, it got complicated. And the more I was around you…. I don’t think I am very good at hiding anything, Crowley. From anyone.”

“So you took yourself away.” He spoke softly.

“I suppose I did.”

“Well, thank hell for the end of the world then. Gave me an excuse to see you.”

“Crowley, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, please, angel. You wouldn’t have been you if you’d been any different. Ineffable plan, and all. Probably.”

He had been watching the place on Aziraphale’s throat where his pulse beat softly. He wanted to put his lips on it, and, with dawning wonder, he realized that he _could_. He could probably touch every part of Aziraphale if he wanted, and he wanted to, and to witness that face again in closed-eye abandon, to hear the beautiful noises that escaped him.

He kissed the angel’s throat gently, just a brush of the lips.

Aziraphale sighed. “Dearest, I can’t think when you do that.” But his hand slid down Crowley’s body, to rest on his hip.

Crowley kissed another inch. “Who wants to think? I’ve been thinking far too long.” He dipped his tongue out, to taste. Aziraphale breathed in sharply, squeezed him. Crowley pressed his stiffening erection into the angel’s thigh.

Oh, it had never been like this, not with anyone! Crowley had had his dalliances – hard to avoid, in his line of work – but humans were like butterflies: blink and they were gone. Holding Aziraphale was like holding the sun.

But more than his immortal nature, it was him, his own being, his particular kind of love. No one had ever smelled so good, like fresh cookies and gardenias, no one had ever been so tender. No one had ever touched him like this, not in 6,000 years. He thought he would never move again if the angel would just keep running his fingers over his back, the back of his neck, his shoulders, his hair, his face. But then Aziraphale kissed his mouth, and that was better than anything.

They twined against each other. Crowley felt that if he just pressed hard enough, he could find some warm place to curl up inside the angel, not to wear his skin again, but to surround himself in his deep being and just, _rest_ there.

Now, though, his physical need for Aziraphale was awake inside of him, sharp and insistent. It was amazing, it was a miracle, how he could just touch him, everywhere, and the angel seemed to open before his hands, his mouth. He was shedding light again, by far the brightest thing that had ever been in Crowley’s bedroom, washing out the glow of the nebulas.

Crowley knew a lot about pleasure. He had always been good at his job, and most of that involved figuring out what people wanted, and then offering it to them. It was just that, so often, humans wanted the wrong things.

Aziraphale was different. He was made to love things, and he was good at loving things in a way that seemed to just add to his being, not diminish it. Crowley had watched him, enjoying himself, for centuries, and his instinct was that here was someone with both the appetite and the capacity for almost boundless pleasure.

He moved down his body, lingering at the crook of his elbow, the side of his belly, the crease of his thigh. He took hold of his cock and breathed, warm, on it. “Oh – oh,” broke from Aziraphale, and Crowley knew if he stayed there this would be over far too soon. He allowed himself one long, loving kiss, then slid back up to let Aziraphale taste himself on his lips.

Then he eased on top of him, lazily rubbing their cocks together.

His angel looked up at him, mouth open, breathing hard. “Crowley,” he whispered. Those eyes. He could never say no to those eyes.

“Yes?” he asked. _Anything._

Aziraphale swallowed, closed his eyes, opened them. Crowley kept up his slow thrusting, and the angel moaned, just a little, his hands moving up to grip Crowley’s back, his shoulders.

“What is it?” he asked. But of course he knew. He knew what people wanted. He was just having a hard time believing it. He felt almost dizzy with lust. Aziraphale was still looking at him.

He kissed him, whispered in his ear. “Tell me what you want.” He moved his hand between them, stroking Aziraphale’s cock, then his balls, then reaching below.

The angel sucked in a breath. “Crowley, please,” he whispered.

“Oh I’m going to fuck you,” he said, the words causing a jolt. They both gasped, and Crowley had to rest his forehead on the angel’s shoulder for a minute to regain his composure.

He kissed him again. “You have to ask, though. I can’t do it unless you ask.”

Aziraphale looked lost for words. Crowley helped him. “Do you want me?”

“Of course!”

“Tell me.”

“I want you.”

Crowley groaned, lifted Aziraphale’s legs so he could get between them. He leaned over him, kissing his face, his beautiful mouth. “Tell me again.”

“I want you.”

Crowley spit on his hand, miracleing plenty of extra wetness, rubbed it on himself, rubbed the head of his cock against Aziraphale.

“You want me to what?”

“I want you... inside me.”

“You want this cock,” he pressed it a little, “inside of you, is that right?” Pressed a little more. Wrapped his hand around Aziraphale and just held him, waiting.

Aziraphale gazed up at him, face empty of everything but desire. Looking at him, flushed, tousled, glowing, wanton, Crowley felt his self-control slipping a notch. He said urgently, “Ask me, angel. I can’t do it unless you ask.”

Aziraphale licked his lips. “Will you please... please fuck me?”

The words were like a punch to the stomach. He eased his cock in, holding back fiercely as to not hurt him. Aziraphale gasped, and squirmed. And then it was like a dam broke. “Please, yes, fuck me, Crowley, oh god, _Crowley_ , yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”

Crowley obliged. He tried to keep it slow, stroking in and out, but Aziraphale’s hands were tight on his hips, urging him in, and that wrecked the last of his resolve. He plowed into him, the angel’s moans and panting like honey in his ear. Aziraphale was almost crying.

Crowley put two hands under his back and lifted him, pulling him into his lap to get deeper. Aziraphale threw his head back, and Crowley kissed every soft place he could reach. He moved carefully, balanced on a knife’s edge.

The angel started coming, coming on his cock, his wings exploding behind him in a rush of white feathers. And because Crowley wanted to, and because he could, he opened himself utterly, losing himself, shouting, black wings unfurling. It was like nothing else on earth, that quenching of fire, the shattering light.

Time seemed to stop while they snatched ragged breaths out of the air, and then Aziraphale’s delicious mouth was there, and they were breathing together.

Eventually they eased down, disentangled, lay next to each other. Aziraphale put his head on Crowley’s chest, gave him a soft kiss, one hand stroking his belly. Crowley hugged him close, spoke into his hair.

“Don’t you ever leave me, angel. I couldn’t take it. Just please, stay. I’ll do anything you want.”

Aziraphale looked up into his eyes, kissed him seriously, and fully. Whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> I fully expected Chapter 1 to be a stand-alone story, but they wouldn't get out of my brain until I wrote Chapters 2 and 3. I hope you enjoyed them, I know I did.
> 
> I have so much love for Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and obv. Michael Sheen and David Tenant for breathing life into these characters, and you all for helping me obsess about them.
> 
> Come holler with me on tumblr @lazulibundtcake


End file.
